


Five Times Molly And Micah Played Together

by Nope



Series: Five Times Micah [1]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-21
Updated: 2007-10-21
Packaged: 2018-10-25 01:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10754277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/pseuds/Nope
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.





	Five Times Molly And Micah Played Together

**1\. Seek**  
  
Micah could hear Molly loudly counting -- "three-Mississippi, four-Mississippi" -- and he made his own noise, clattering out of the room and thumping up the creaking stairs. He was only silent on the landing, first pulling himself up onto the banister, and then carefully sliding all the way back down it, whisper quiet.  
  
It was a short drop from the end into the deep carpet, and he smiled to himself as he sneaked back the way he came, slow passing Molly -- "seventeen-Mississippi, eighteen-Mississippi" -- on stealthy tip-toes, and quick again, around the corner. He opened the basement door, then doubled back again to the kitchen, edging around its half-open door so he didn't disturb it.   
  
Molly's warning shout went up as he was closing the door to the pantry and he moved carefully to the back in the dark, pressed up against the wall between the flour and grandma's preserves, grinning. It was perfect. She would never fi--  
  
Molly opened the door triumphantly.  
  
Micah sighed. "This game is stupid."  
  
  
  
**2\. Angels**  
  
It never really snowed all that much in Vegas. Not proper, thick, white, Christmas snow like this. They begged Mohinder, one after the other in tag-team, then both at once, until he threw up his hands in defeat and took them out. Micah had to borrow a pair of Molly's gloves, which were a little too short but white, at least, much better than Molly's pink. Not just the gloves: she had a hat and a scarf too. Micah got one of Mohinder's, too long, wrapped round and round. Mohinder insisted they both hold his hands, earning identical eye-rolls, but they did, all the way to the park.  
  
Molly broke away at the gate, bounding off the path onto the snowy grass. Micah glanced up at Mohinder and, when the man nodded, followed her at a more sedate pace, confused when she promptly threw herself down in the snow.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Making an angel!"  
  
Molly swung her legs and arms. Micah thought about angles, arcs, segments of circles. She pushed herself up, stepping carefully out of the shape she had made, patting and shaking herself to get the snow off her coat. "See? You do it!"  
  
"Okay." Micah considered the ground, and then crouched, pressing his gloved hands into the snow, feeling the cold through them. He moved his hands apart in overlapping diagonals, creating proper wing shapes, feathered ends.  
  
"You're doing it wrong," Molly complained. "I thought you were supposed to be a genius."  
  
Micah just laughed, breath steaming in the crisp air, admiring his handwork. "I've never done this before. It's great! It's--"  
  
Molly dumped snow on him. Micah spluttered, glared indignantly. Molly smiled and giggled -- and then yelped as he snatched up handfuls of snow and retaliated. Yelling and laughing she dodged away, grabbing up her own handfuls, making snowballs now. Micah proved quicker at construction but Molly had a wicked arm and the snow flew thick and fast.  
  
They were both soaked and frozen by the time Mohinder called them home, but Micah could not stop smiling for the rest of the day.  
  
  
  
**3\. Piano**  
  
Music was math. Or math was music. There was a connection there. Rhythm, placement, timing. Fake-ivory keys cool under his fingers. Micah liked how it was both precise and flowing, each note sharp, each chord dropping neatly into place in the whole. He played scales, rising and falling, then picked out a melody, the piano part of something Beethoven, feeling the pull of the keys, imagining the rise and rush of the orchestra around him, like a carefully completed circuit, all parts in harmony to the whole.  
  
Until Molly started tapping the high C, anyway.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"I'm bored," she said, tapping her way down an octave, a note at a time, until Micah knocked her hand to get her to stop. "Teach me something."  
  
"Like what?" He played a little Moonlight Sonata before remembering it was his father's favorite piece and flubbed a note. Molly didn't seem to notice.  
  
"Something easier," she said.  
  
"Okay." Micah shuffled sideways on the bench so she could sit down. "What about Chopsticks?"  
  
He demonstrated the top part, then again, slower. Molly followed along, first hesitantly, then with confidence.  
  
"You're getting it." Micah smiled.  
  
"I thought it was hard," Molly said, "but it's just finding the right keys."  
  
"Keep playing," Micah said, and she did and, after a moment, he started playing the bottom part, earning a big smile.  
  
They had it down to a fine art by the time Matt complained he couldn't hear himself think, let alone anyone else.  
  
  
  
**4\. Draw**  
  
They were both drawing the first time Molly got really, seriously mad at him. Mohinder had a whole pile of scrap printout paper from his research, and his vast array of colored highlight pens more than made up for them having to draw on the back of genome sequences and chemical formulae. It was really too hard to do circuit diagrams with wax crayons, all thick and messy, not like the neat, thin lines of the pen. OR and AND gates, a Not or two, switches and resistors and transistors: a place for everything and everything it its place.  
  
Micah sat back, satisfied, knowing it could work -- it would work, if only he could convince someone to let him have the laptop, the parts and his soldering iron back -- and turned to look at Molly's drawings. He was expecting... Something. Pictures of people, maybe, Matt and Mohinder (and Molly and Micah and what was up with all the Ms?) or houses or. Girly things. A pony or something. (What did girls like?)  
  
Molly's drawings all looked back at him with yellow eyes.  
  
Each was dark, half scribbled over with black crayon. Each had a mark, a stretched s or a twisted f or something, a snake or a river or something from one of Mohinder's biology texts. And eyes, on all of them eyes. He picked them up, feeling something cold inside, a twist in his stomach, like being back at Kirby Plaza again, at the end of that long night.  
  
"What," he started, and then Molly was snatching at the papers so hard they tore right out of his hands, leaving little tatters in his fingers.  
  
"It's none of your business!"  
  
"I was just looking," Micah complained before he could stop himself.  
  
Molly's flushed face paled. Micah opened his mouth to apologize but, before he could, Molly shoved him so hard he fell down. By the time he'd scrambled his way back to his feet, sliding a little on discarded pens, she'd stormed off into her bedroom and slammed the door.  
  
"...what did you do?" asked Mohinder.  
  
"I didn't do anything!"  
  
"Women, Micah," said Mohinder, thoughtfully, "are one of life's eternal mysteries."  
  
Micah stared at him. "That's not very useful."  
  
"You're right."  
  
Fortunately they managed to bribe Molly out with apologies and ice-cream, and by the end of the afternoon cartoons they were all back to smiles and friends again and Micah trying to convince Mohinder that giving a boy his computer to take apart and make better was a perfectly sane proposition when said boy had superpowers, yes? No? No.  
  
It was only much later that Micah noticed that, in the lines of crossing circuits, he'd drawn the same symbol.  
  
  
  
  
**5\. Drive**  
  
Neither of them liked the shooting games, they kept getting in each other's way on the platform scrollers, Matt and Mohinder declared the fighting games far too violent, Molly thought the sports games were stupid and Micah thought the driving games were boring. Not having a particularly vast collection to begin with, there was only one multiplayer option left: competitive Tetris.  
  
Molly frowned in concentration, working the controls, carefully moving the pieces left and right and rotating them around, finding the best places for them. Multiple lines got added to the other players board, so she needed to arrange it just right. Four at once and she'd win. A T-shape here, a Z there, the two Ss, the square. And there! The long one! She grinned. It was perfect. With that, he'd never wi--  
  
Micah casually added thirty-two lines to her side in quick succession.  
  
Molly sighed. "This game is stupid."


End file.
